


War of Gods

by Lirriel



Category: The Yogscast
Genre: Body Horror, Celtic Mythology & Folklore, Cthulhu Mythos, F/F, F/M, Implied/Referenced Torture, Lovecraftian, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-14
Updated: 2015-06-22
Packaged: 2018-03-30 11:44:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 15,796
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3935581
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lirriel/pseuds/Lirriel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In a land of myths and magic, where legendary heroes live out their days in a white spiral tower overlooking a spanning city, a trickster god chooses to step into the mortal plane and loses himself to the madness of an immortal mind trapped within a human body. At the same time, a simple hedgewitch spends her days hiding from a bloodthirsty police force, and a charismatic salesman tries to carve out a living on the edges of civilization. All three are set on a path that will lead to great changes within the nation, the world, and the very universe itself.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Part 1, Prologue

 

 

_several hundred years in the future_

 

The Nether groaned.  White guardians, beasts of bone and scales and overwhelming light, fought and faded and died. The tower of chains slowly began to crumble. Corruption, pure and perfect, corroded the gods’ blood that smeared the foundation. Chaos, entropy, deterioration.

The energy of an immortal stirred within the tower of chains, now rusted and roughshod and the hellhounds threw back their heads and howled melancholy, hoping to reach the winged one, the horned one. _The witch is coming_ , they cried. _The witch is coming to destroy us all!_

The cocoon broke with a crack that rocked the bowels of hell. In the center of the tower of chains, now broken and useless, the white silk glistened and gleamed. And then broke; it was a sharp movement. Suddenly there was a hole and then there was an arm, damp with purple sludge that oozed onto the red brick of netherstone, that reached out into the air, grasping and desperate. With time an entire body emerged, humanoid in nature and covered in the corroding, corrupting substance; the purple liquid hissed as it ate through rock and ore, disappearing into the lava below and being devoured in turn.

For the first time in over two centuries, Kim of Queen’s Rest drew in her first breath. She gasped, choked, gagged on the filmy purple goop that coated her throat and tongue. She scrambled onto all fours, her knees protesting against the hard floor, and she retched. Her spine arched and she salivated heavily, drooling, until she felt the first wave overtake her. The sick she spilled sizzled on the godstone but did not eat through it. The stench of it, purple and red and streaks of blood-black with frothy white edges, forced her to vomit again, and she continued to do so until she could no longer gag, her throat raw and burning.

She coughed, wretched in her refound existence, and curled up on the ground. The hellhounds continued their wretched calls. They paced around the walkway that led out to her prison. But they came no closer, did not step foot on the godstone that would burn and bite at their tender pads. And Kim was grateful, her eyes red-rimmed, her mind entirely blank, and the purple vines that had dripped down her body curled tightly around her arm, her hip, her thigh.

It was a gentle scratching at first. The bulbs of the vines, the knobby ends—they nudged at her skin, and she was too exhausted to lift an arm and bat them away. They grew bolder, nudging harder, and with the nudges came nips. At last Kim gasped in pain as they bit through her skin and burrowed, the long length of them vanishing beneath her skin. She hunched up in pain, squeezing her eyes shut tight against the image of them worming underneath her skin, needle-like but wider and insistent. Alive.

At last they stopped slithering inside of her. At last they came to a stop, rooted within her, only the bulbs jutting free of the entry points they had used. Whimpering with pain and fear, Kim glanced down at one and shuddered as the vine inside her flexed. The bulb bloomed, tinged white and violet with a brilliant red center, and it flattened itself against her skin, a flowerhead that could almost have been painted on if every flinch of her body didn't send a rippling pain tearing through her.

The roots dug themselves in deeper, and Kim collapsed down, struggling to tear out the flowers that bloomed upon her and ate away at her insides. She clawed, fingers turned talons in her desperation, and the flowers ripped, wrinkled petals tumbling down around her.

“No, no, _no_ ,” she sobbed, even as the vine closest to her heart burrowed upward, diving in deep and splitting muscle and flesh, driving up through her throat. She continued to choke out her desperation, even as the vine cut off her breathing and forced itself outward, escaping through her mouth. Spots popped in front of her eyes, and the flower bloomed from between her jaws, brilliant and vibrant and beautiful.

Her final howl was a weak, muffled whine, and the darkness took her away swiftly and silently.


	2. Part 1, Chapter One

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the prologue and chapter one are bundled together ‘cuz prologue tells fuck all usually. 
> 
> i'm thinking there will be two parts to this story, and i have all of part one and a bit of part two planned out. I do have several of part 1's chapters written out, but I am going to space them, both to give me a buffer and to have time to go back and tweak stuff as needed.
> 
> pairings and character tags will be added as we hit certain chapters~

 

 _the present day_  


 

“C’mon, Lom, I’m telling you—love potions? Mad bank. Ka-ching, ka-ching.”

Lomadia arched one blonde eyebrow at her companion in response but didn't turn away from her book, jaw tight as she once more went over the recipe. Demon summoning was child’s play compared to summoning a real _devil_. What devils lacked in brute strength, they made up for with wicked cunning, meaning she and Nilesy couldn’t employ guerrilla tactics in facing it. But a devil, unlike a demon, was actually capable of granting boons that were real magic.

Neither of them were particularly interested in summoning a devil, but it was something that had to be done—a final test by the coven witches. Summon a devil and cage it—failure to do the first would lead to another rigorous gathering of materials. Failure to do the second would lead to death, most likely. But passing the test meant full acceptance by the coven witches scattered across Minecraftia, and with the Magic Police armed and dangerous and dedicated to taking down all magical opponents benign and malicious alike—well, it was good to have many friends all with their own special tools of the trade.

Meanwhile, Nilesy had decided now was a great time to hatch a hare-brained scam to wring money out of the common folk—or to be more precise, testificates.

“They won’t even _realize_ they’re just drinking haste potions mixed with a bit of sake, and we've got _loads_ of the stuff,” he continued on, undaunted by her raised brow of obvious disapproval. Or more likely he just hadn’t noticed—typical Nilesy.

She snapped her book shut with a sigh, looking up at her companion in all things dastardly and mischievous—and stupid, considering what they were about to do in a scant hour, probably less now. “All it takes is one unhappy customer and the Magic Police will be rooting through this forest, hoping for a trail. _Think_ , man!”

She couldn’t resist the urge to roll her eyes when Nilesy stuck his lower lip out in a pout. Oh boy, here it comes.

“But Lomadiaaaa,” he whined, “think of all the gold we could get.”

The woman eyed him up and asked, “You mean all that gold we could have if you were researching transmutation like you’re _supposed_ to. All that gold we could make from all those tons of lead ore we have just littering our mining cavern?”

She stopped and added sourly, “Besides, we’re low on sake, anyway. One of those bastard villagers keeps pinching it all.”

“Can splice an owl mutant but can’t lock a trapdoor. Honestly, Lom, what kinda witch are you?”

Lomadia turned away with a half-smile and began to search through her chests, picking out the stones she’d need. Warding, definitely. Maybe some of the Horned One’s essence, to give the cage strength? The creak of the front door signaled Nilesy’s leave and a muted mew further signaled his familiar’s presence at his side—probably off to clear the surrounding area of monsters. Everything had to be perfect tonight.

Nilesy was in charge of clearing the area and keeping other monsters, drawn by the presence of powerful magic, far enough away they’d be incapable of affecting the summoning. It was also his job to draw the devil into its cage once it was summoned. He had insisted on it, and while Lomadia had only jokingly said he was a silly sausage and liable to get himself killed, the truth of the matter was that she was worried.

No matter how hard he tried to play the hero, swordsmanship didn't come as naturally for him as it did for Lomadia. His reflexes weren't as quick, his responses lagged at times—so she was frightened for him, but God forbid she show it. Pride was something he lacked, despite his confident exterior, and showing she didn't have faith in him would land a far more crushing blow than any swipe from a demon’s paw. So she kept quiet and fretted only to herself.

“Lom, c’mon!” And the idiot was hollering at her to hurry up, because if there was one thing he didn't hold, it was patience. All feelings of doubt were swept away as she yelled back, “I’m coming, keep your socks on!”

He’d be fine. Idiots like him always made out okay.

Slipping out of their cozy cottage, Lomadia was greeted with the familiar rush of sweet scents mingled with sour and sharp, tangy smells that blended well in the seasonal forest they’d settled in. A witch’s magic was perhaps the most natural type of magic in existence, relying on plants and minerals in comparison to “mana” and “essence”, the sources for two magics far more volatile and far more harmful to the world at large. The witch’s way kept the world in balance, making it a good fit for Lomadia. And beyond that, it made her large, gorgeous garden far more colorful than it would have been otherwise.

She picked her way through their berry maze, snagging handfuls of blackberries and blueberries as she went, pocketing some and snacking on the rest. Once she had cleared them, she slipped through the gate of the fence that encircled their compound, stopping for a second to double-check the wards she’d placed along the border—concealment and containment, hiding them and keeping all magic trapped inside.

But devil summoning was a big deal. An extremely large, laborious, deadly deal. So instead of conducting the ritual in one of their regular circles, they’d instead chosen to hold it on the platform overlooking the testificate village nearby, nestled in the side of a nearby mountain. It was far enough away from their house to allow them a place to escape to if things went wrong—and far enough away that the Magic Police would have to circle the area, fishing for clues.

Take the utmost precaution—that was what Lomadia had drilled into Nilesy’s head after having it pounded into her. The Horned One, who watched over all witches, was kind, but he was a hunter and demanded sacrifice as easily as he offered satisfaction. It was something Lomadia knew far too well, but Nilesy hadn’t yet learned firsthand.

She hoped he never would.

Lomadia moved easily through the forest, keeping an eye on the lantern she saw bobbing a few meters in front of her—Nilesy, leading the way. He kept that lead over her throughout the quiet twilight trip. He only stopped to wait for her when he reached the docks, the sky now a deep dusky purple as the final rays of the sun faded away completely. Already the moon was rising hazily to the east, shrouded in cloud cover and only the thinnest slice of silver in the otherwise empty sky. No early-rising stars tonight.

“After you,” Nilesy said softly, his normal mirth lost in the solemnity of their upcoming task. Lomadia ducked her head in brief acknowledgement then stretched out her hand and called. Tucked neatly under their dock was a small boat, more of a canoe, really. It slid out silently, slicing through the water to stop right at their feet almost, bobbing quietly on the few waves stirred up by its movement.

Lomadia, after a brief glance into the depths below, stepped quickly into the boat, settling down into a crouch on it. She wasn’t a fan of the water, couldn’t stand the way the boat pitched as her added weight bore it down.

And here, at last, Nilesy had an edge over her. Though she was undoubtedly his better in magic, plants, fighting, and more; it was he who was most at home in the water, whether it was sailing across the seas or diving down deep. Strange, when his familiar was a cat, but even Lyndon was an oddity himself. The black cat loved water and could often be found swimming laps around their pond while Nilesy busied himself elsewhere.

Nilesy slipped in beside her and hunkered down with Lyndon safely in his arms, staring at her for a brief moment before reaching out to gently touch her shoulder. “Steady,” he whispered.

“I know,” she snapped back, not in any mood to be kind over deep water. He sighed and gave her shoulder a quick squeeze before settling back and setting the boat in motion. He’d drive it; she didn’t have the nerves to handle a late-night water crossing.

As the boat glided through the water, Lomadia once more checked through her pouch, making sure everything was in place. Horned One’s Essence, several waystones, sulpher and an imp’s horn. And the blood, of course. Bled from a day-old lamb. That was kept corked in a tiny phial.

The chalk had already been set up earlier. The runes for the summoning, the runes for the containment, it was all set up. Now it was a matter of actually summoning the devil and capturing it.

“Lom, we’re here,” Nilesy said, breaking into her thoughts. The boat had stopped in the shallow waters of the river, right at the base of the mountain—a thin stretch of beach quickly giving way to stone and dirt that towered over them in the darkness. And hidden on that mountain was a secret trail that curled around it and led to the altar.

Lomadia nodded her head and slowly stood up in the boat, doing her best to balance as Nilesy stepped out of it and down into the calf-deep water. His tall figure made it easy for him to clamber in and out of boats in water, but Lomadia wasn’t quite so lucky; not that she was outrageously short, but her body was far more proportional when compared to Mr. Legs McGee. So rather than have him witness her likely fail at climbing out of a tiny little boat that was better off being called a canoe—well, she chose to jump. She sprang for the bank and cleared it with a foot to spare, landing lightly in the sand at Nilesy’s side.

Behind her, the boat bobbed noisily from the force of her jump, causing waves to spring up around it. Nilesy turned immediately to hush the sound with a wave of his hand. “Shoosh.”

As the waters resettled, he threw a wry look at Lomadia’s back. She was a little flushed and refused to look at him and give him the satisfaction of seeing her embarrassed. “Nice entrance,” he said.

“Oh, shut up,” she shot back, no real venom in her voice. Then she cleared her throat and tucked some stray blonde hairs behind her ear, facing the path that led up the mountain. “Shall we?”

Nilesy chuckled softly but followed after her without any smart remarks.

“What’s the plan again?” he asked as they climbed steadily higher into the mountains.

A few steps ahead of him, Lomadia cocked her head left and right, listening, before calling back over her shoulder, “Summon, catch, and then banish or kill.”

“Not keeping it around until the coven show up?”

“No need,” Lomadia answered, grunting slightly as she hefted herself up a small clump of dirt before she turned around to offer Nilesy a steadying hand as he climbed after her. “They’ll probably be watching through familiars. Or a pond or mirror or some nonsense like that.”

She added after a moment of silence, “Besides, it’d be too dangerous to try to keep it contained for such a long period of time. And I doubt they’d show up anyway; no point risking _their_ necks in addition to ours.”

“I think we’re getting a bad deal, Lom,” Nilesy said with a laugh.

“Tell me about it,” she mumbled.

  
████████  


This had been a _bad_ idea.

“Hit it, hit it!” Lomadia shouted, Mr. Owl shrieking in her ear as he flew around the devil, dodging its outstretched black talons only to be swatted away a moment later by its prehensile tail.

The scaly black creature roared, its curved horns scything through the air as it swiped at Nilesy, missing him by inches as the man fell backward onto his ass.

“Shit,” Lomadia spat, then called out louder, “Oi, ugly!”

Without thinking she lined up a shot, throwing her iron sword at it with a force that wrenched her shoulder hard, muscles screaming in protest as the blade hurled through the air to bite deep into the devil’s thigh.

The creature screeched in a mix of agony and pain as the wound began to steam around the sword, and Lomadia smiled grimly as it turned to face her, teeth bared. The bipedal creature stumbled toward her on all fours, its long tail curling over its back. She was weaponless now, her sword still embedded deep in its thigh—and trying to reach it would be suicide.

Lomadia backed away from it as slowly as it came, knowing that a sudden movement would make it respond in time—and she had already seen just how quick it was.

The witches had _lied_. There was to be no bargaining with this beast. She wasn’t even sure if it could speak. All she knew was that it hunted with the grace of a leopard and had the agility of a gazelle. Its talons reminded her of a raptor’s, but the horns on its heads were obviously draconian in nature. And the face—the face was entirely human, the way it walked had been so obviously human, but it was decidedly _not_ human.

Then maybe she should stop fighting it as a human?

No time to think.

The devil released a loud scream and suddenly leapt toward her, clawed hands biting deep into earth where she’d stood a moment before. But she’d reached the edge of their platform and allowed herself to fall backwards, opening her senses to the sounds of the wind.

The creature spat in frustration and crawled to the ledge, peering over it. Far below, a black shadow moved amongst the gray smudges of a darkened landscape. A warbling cry pierced the night and there was a sudden rush of wind past the devil’s face. It jerked its head upward—but too late, as cruel talons fastened into its back, biting deep beneath its skin.

The Horned One had arrived.

Tawny wings spread above the trapped creature, flapping with powerful strokes as the giant owl struggled momentarily to lift the devil. But there was a sudden lurch and they were airborne, the trees surrounding them swaying beneath the rush of air pushed downward by each beat of the owl’s wings.

The devil twisted unsuccessfully in the creature’s grip, screeching horrifically even as it was lifted beyond the canopy, beyond the clouds, up and away and out of sight.

And then the howling began. Beyond the mountain, below the sliver of moon that hung in the sky so coldly—howls of hounds, baying and yelping. The tops of pine trees trembled and swayed as screams rose into the air.

Nilesy shivered where he had fallen a scant minute before ( _so much had happened in so little time_ ) and thought of tales of black dogs. And then he remembered Lomadia. He struggled to his feet, tried to call out “Lomadia!” and succeeded only in a froggy croak that received a mew of laughter from Lyndon.

“Hush,” he told the familiar as he looked around, trying to figure out what had just happened—where she had gone. Finally he glanced down at the cat at his feet with a scowl, giving it a gentle nudge with his boot. “Move, you. Make yourself useful; you were _terrible_ during that fight.”

The cat seemed to take no notice of the distant ruckus that had started up soon after the devil had been taken away; instead, he turned glowing golden eyes toward the lip of the platform and trotted toward it, tail waving carelessly behind him.

Nilesy followed slowly, not ill at ease but enormously tired. Lyndon would be far more on guard if any threats remained nearby.

The cat began to follow the arc of the platform’s end, padding along quietly with Nilesy half-staggering behind him. The cat finally stopped and sat down, then curled his tail neatly over his paws and meowed.

“Lyndon?”

Nilesy’s heart leapt into his throat and he half-staggered, half-ran to the edge of the platform, peering over it, searching for the owner of the voice. Lomadia was just out of reach below him, bravely hanging onto a thick root jutting out from the underside of the overhang.

“Hi, Nilesy,” she called weakly, a small smile blooming on her face as she took in his disheveled appearance. “Glad to see ya still alive.”

“Same to you, Lom,” he said. “You just been _hanging around_?” His poor joke earned him a small chuckle and he laughed back, relief coursing through him.

“Funny,” Lomadia said. “But I’d really appreciate a hand up? Maybe?”

 


	3. Part 1, Chapter Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a swippy-swap story. 
> 
> i've always enjoyed the trott = selkie angle, and it fit in nicely amongst some of the other mythos I'm adapting to the yogs. chapters will typically flip between lomadia and smiffy, excluding certain circumstances. literally the weirdest "pairing" to ever pop into my head, and when i first began on this it was definitely with a lot of trepidation. 
> 
> oh well. :D

 

“Hello and welcome to Legit Deeds!” Trottimus’s crooning voice wasn’t particularly stand-out under the best of circumstances due to the salt water he spent his life sucking in and spitting out like most marine mammals. But when he was selling someone on a legitimate deed to a piece of land? Well, he just took it to a higher level.

The selkie's voice was high-pitched as he led the man around the small but cramped shack, located out in the middle of nowhere. To either side of him stood Alsmiffy and Ross, the two a good half-head taller than their newest customer. And wasn’t he a _fine_ chap with his gold-studded coat and his finely polished boots and the _ruffles_ that cascaded down the center of his chest? Everything about this gentleman screamed money, and the Hat boys were in the mood to collect.

They already had numerous deeds with outrageous late fees lined up, but those were all long-term games. This man seemed like the type able to pay massively up-front, and that was something they liked. Trottimus had loudly proclaimed the night before, “Now’s the time to expand, boys. While we've got a stranglehold on the market!” And here was the perfect customer to donate generously to Hat Corp’s expansion.

Alsmiffy took over as they led the man, who called himself some strange name like Ridgedog or Ridgehog or, “I’ll just call you Ridge, all right?” down the ladder hidden in one corner of the shack. Ridge was a most accommodating customer. As Alsmiffy began to remove his coat, he held his arms out willingly, and when Ross brought the penguin out to give Ridge his personal massage, the man seemed absolutely thrilled.

Alsmiffy swept back in front of the man to go over Mr. Handy and how he should treat the penguin, glancing to the side as he watched Trott first tap at the gold buttons on the coat then nip at one, finally raising his thumb in the sign of approval.

“Now, Mr. Ridge, sir,” Alsmiffy continued, “If you could please follow me, we’ll take you to the Deeds Hall, where we have _many_ legit deals available for you to peruse.” As Ridgedog followed after him, Alsmiffy paused to hiss back, “Ross, get that filthy penguin back in his case.” Then he gave Ridge a one-hundred-percent legitimate smile and swept him down the passageway.

Trottimus was already waiting there, as he typically did, while Ross hosed the penguin down. Alsmiffy stayed just behind their customer, guiding him with gentle touches, soft commands left in the edges of the man’s subconscious.

“Lookie here,” Smiffy drawled out, beckoning Ridgedog toward one of the many deeds they had on display. Unlike the majority of the others, it wasn’t claimed. In fact, it was a special luxurious island, perfect for a resort, and one they’d held back when other customers came through. They had originally planned to retire on it, but why retire on a small jewel when you could take the whole damn crown?

“Perfect for a gentleman such as yourself. White beach, coconut trees, lots of jungle, but hey!” And here he gently elbowed the other man, making them both squeak out a grunt of laughter. Trottimus entered the conversation now, sliding in as slick as a goose through oil.

“For a limited time, Legit Deeds is teaming up with Legit Builders to clear away as much jungle as you want and build your first facility there _for free_! For _free_ , mate! You won’t find a deal like that anywhere else!”

“And,” Alsmiffy dropped in, rubbing his palms together, “this entire package can be _yours_ for only a few measly diamonds!” It all sounded so fair and reasonable. Of course, Alsmiffy knew that “a few” really meant several thousand and “measly” meant giant blocks made of the stuff. But the gentleman wouldn't catch on until after he’d signed the document

“Nah.” The word cut like a knife through their gibbering and for a moment, Alsmiffy drew back and exchanged a shocked glance with Trottimus.

They might have to dirty him up a bit. Hard clients typically only took to rough handling. It was a shame to break a pretty face, but it wasn’t as if Alsmiffy had done worse in his time alive. Just send Trottimus on a fishing trip with Ross, spend a few hours with the gentleman in the space between and most were willing to talk then. Plead, beg. Same difference.

“You got anything for blood magic fuel? Those testificates only bleed emerald.” Ridge was speaking but it took Alsmiffy a moment to understand what he was saying. Ridgedog rolled his eyes until they met Smiffy’s, then gave him a wide grin. “Well, they bleed emerald when I cut them.”

Ridgedog glanced toward the selkie and winked at him. “Say,” he began conversationally, “how much would I have to pay for you?”

Smiffy’s eyes narrowed, suddenly aware of an electricity built on nerves arcing its way through the air. A quick glance at Trottimus proved the selkie couldn’t move; he just stood there frozen, eyes glazed in fear as he eyed Ridge.

“Tell me,” Ridge’s persuasive purr had a hard edge to it, one that made the tendrils of Alsmiffy’s slantwise body bristle. “How much do you cost, Trottimus?”

“He doesn't cost anything, mate.” Ross was suddenly in front of Trott, pushing the smaller man back and standing up to his full height, eyes chips of ice. “He’s not for sale.” The human’s words were soft. Dangerously soft; unlike anything the man had ever uttered before. Two sharks, circling each other, daring each other to strike, to be the first to draw blood.

Then Ross flicked his gaze toward Smiffy.

Ice chips bore into Alsmiffy’s eyes, and his bravado shattered. He lurched past Ridgedog and Ross, grabbing Trott by the hand and leading him back up the passageway with a yelled, “Come on!”

A weighted stone had somehow lodged itself in his belly. He knew without looking back that Ross wasn’t following. And Trott was screaming, dimly, screaming at something Alsmiffy knew he could not be allowed to see.

He only allowed himself to hear one thing: the sound of a body being broken like a twig.

He swore to himself that the gurgles, the screams of pain, the panting, and finally the sobbing, were all imaginations of a shattered mind. It was better that way.

  
████████

 

Torchlight turned the cold stone silver, the wave of heat before Alsmiffy’s eyes making the walls pulse, seemingly alive. Trapped in a cold, stone-and-dirt belly, swallowed by the jaws of insanity—Smiffy hadn’t been a poet when he woke up that morning, but by nightfall he’d likely be listed amongst the greats.

Behind him trudged Trottimus. His friend’s youthful face was for once haggard and drawn, the laugh lines around his mouth deeper now, as if they’d been gouged out. He walked with his head down, his arms hanging limply at his sides. Alsmiffy knew his friend’s listlessness was part-pain-part-thirst.

He could have sworn there was an underground brook in the caves that spanned beneath Hat Corp, but after two hours and seven torches, Alsmiffy’s adrenaline was running low. At this point, the only motivation he had to keep putting one foot in front of the other was Trott. The selkie had been that madman’s main target, and Alsmiffy didn't peg him as the type to give up so easily.

No, his stomach reminded him with a queasy clutch of dread. He hadn’t given up; he was simply preoccupied turning Ross into lunch meat. Alsmiffy may have been descended from an abomination, but he wasn’t immune to the pain currently eating away at the edges of his mind. Shame and guilt intermingled with it, creating a deadly concoction that he was hard-pressed to push aside. Leaving his best friend to die by a madman’s hand—what sort of friend was he?

Just like _Mother_.

Alsmiffy stepped out into a wide cavern, his eyes widening as he tried to see beyond the torch’s light. A cool breeze tickled the back of his neck, and he swiveled his head, searching for its source. At last, his ears, not his eyes, found it.

An underwater brook, the very one he had first stumbled upon when clearing out the caves of monsters; joy lit up his heavy heart, easing the burden on it, and he called back to Trott excitedly, “Come see, mate! This ought to pep you up a bit!”

He could tell the exact moment when Trottimus sensed water. The smaller man had gradually fallen farther and farther behind him as they continued on. But now, his head came up and the light in his brown eyes flared. He drew in three rapid breaths of air, his nostrils quivering. Then the selkie shot past Alsmiffy and dashed into the cavern, leaping into the river and immediately submerging himself.

Alsmiffy clattered across the slippery ground after him. He didn't jump in, preferring to keep watch on their surroundings. The water was revitalizing Trott, but eventually they would have to continue onward. They had at least another half day’s journey before they reached an exit cave and could once more be out in the fresh air.

Before then, Alsmiffy’s dread would burn off, and by the time they escaped the dark, he would be famished. Trott would be all right; the selkie was more durable than a regular human, and he wouldn't begin to feel the pangs of hunger for another day, at least. Smiffy allowed Trott to play in the water for a few minutes more before he kicked a stone into the tumbling river.

“Oi, mate. Time to get a move on.” Smiffy’s voice held no venom, as he couldn’t exactly blame Trott’s natural physiology. Water meant life to a selkie. No water was the equivalent of no air to a human. But, Trott had once told them, it was in many ways worse. Because a selkie would not die of dehydration in the human sense; rather, the selkie would literally dry out, leaving behind only a bone-dry corpse. And until the end came, the experience was an agony unknown to humans, something their pain receptacles weren't even capable of producing.

Trott’s head popped out of the water, and he allowed himself only a short, “Aww,” before he had climbed back onto dry land with Alsmiffy. He didn't bother drying himself; Alsmiffy knew the wet clothes would keep Trott comfortable longer, anyway. The pair exchanged a glance, and for a moment Trott rested his hand on Alsmiffy’s sleeve before the two set out once more.

They walked. The passageways seemed to stretch forever onward, occasionally opening up into larger rooms of stone. Alsmiffy oftentimes felt as if he had been sealed into a gigantic tomb, trapped in a maze of rock. But his feelers told him the proper way, and when he stretched them out fully, he could feel the slightest hint of a breeze. A flash of flowers, the sharp scent of a sweating buck, rubbing his antlers against a young oak. It was all out there, just beyond this sea of stone.

For once, he had never been happier for his abomination-descended heritage. He had never been more happy for the slantwise tentacles only he could see that sprouted from his spine. They trailed around him, constantly traveling down corridors, retracing his steps and sensing, feeling. Feeling for Ridge, sensing for the correct direction to head. The information they brought him came in a flash of colors and jolts. Jolts of euphoria, jolts of dread, electricity directly to the brain stem whenever they brushed against a living being.

And his hunger grew.

 

 


	4. Part 1, Chapter Three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Added a few relationship tags. I'm so desperate for the upcoming chapters, you have no idea. But for now, more Nilesy and Lomadia interaction, which is my lifeblood. it's so good.
> 
> (also ars magica is called ars magicka because it's the only man-made magical system and mortals are pretentious as fuck. witchery and blood magic are both broad terms that numerous systems can fall under, so they stay lowercase.)

  


“That could have gone better,” Lomadia said, drawing in a deep breath before exhaling it all in a gusty sigh, her hands resting heavy on her hips. Then she clapped her hands and looked around their cottage. “Now, what to pack?”

Her body still ached from the night before. No real injuries to account for, just muscles stretching in ways they shouldn't have been stretched and an uncomfortable time spent hanging from a tree root—her body had at least been kind enough to wait until the next day before it dropped the bill off: soreness. So much soreness and an overwhelming need to take a long, hot bath when the reality of the matter was that she had to pack and find a new home.

A scowl crossed the woman’s face as she examined the tat scattered around the kitchenette. What she really ought to do was head straight to Mistral City and tell off Xephos for allowing that ridiculous Magics bill to be passed. She had never harmed anyone with misuse of magic, but apparently just _personal use_ was too much for the council.

The fact of the matter, she thought grimly as she began to pick up utensils and fling them into boxes, was that none of this would be happening if that bloody bill hadn’t been allowed through. But it had been voted on, five-to-two, in favor of. Such bills had been brought forth in the past, of course. It was only natural in a world that had given birth to the dread Israphel. But Mistral City had often taken the stance of its two prized heroes.

_No more_ , Lomadia mused. She supposed they were growing out of their idolization. Memories faded so easily.

The simple stance of the bill was this: no one could perform magic without a permit. Permits could only be obtained by those schooled in Ars Magicka; witchery and blood magic were forbidden. Citizens wishing to retrieve a permit must travel all the way to Mistral City and that was a week’s journey, assuming you survived the trip with no magic and cutthroats abound in the Blackrock Mountains and throughout the Highlands.

In a way it was simply another way for the well-off to constrict their poor brethren. Everyone knew the richest lived in the Noblelands, on estates owned by their fathers and forefathers, and they were the ones closest to the academies that had sprung up immediately following the bill’s passage into law.

It had all been absolute bollocks, and Lomadia would have blown the whole lot of them off if it weren't for the two police assigned to the part of the Highlands she and Nilesy had settled in. Sjin Plowman and Lalna of Edgemont were a pair of bloodhounds, eager to prove themselves. Sjin, as his name indicated, had been a simple farmer, but he had eagerly joined the cause, and Lalna—Lalna was just that sort of man. Born into money, a whole manor filled with toys and knick-knacks to fuck around with and all the freedoms a second son could be afforded, but he preferred _live_ test subjects.

If Lomadia was honest, it was Lalna whom she feared more. She’d heard it from the owls; he liked to practice blood magic in their headquarters, tainting a magical forest that might have one day grown into a God Woods without interference. Sjin was too simple to argue, even if he was smart enough not to take part.

The thought of it, of what Lalna did to those he captured—the very thought of it was why she would prefer to run. Maybe, if she were alone, she would have fought back. Or simply stayed in her hut and challenged them to come get her—but she had Nilesy, and the thought of Nilesy, twisted and blackened from blood magic torture—the very thought of it burned her blood.

Humming a little diddy she’d picked up from the village, Lomadia primly folded up towels and washrags and old shirts that she really ought to replace, threadbare and pocked with patches. Hell, she _had_ been planning on replacing their entire wardrobe once Nilesy figured out how to transmute lead to gold, but that hadn’t exactly panned out. So she packed them away with a sigh and set the kettle on, only because it was already midday and there was nothing quite like a two o'clock tea break.

She was just sitting down with her mug when Nilesy banged open the front door. It sounded remarkably like a hammer on heated metal, and she ungracefully jolted, the tea lipping over the edge of the mug and splashing into her lap. “Nilesy, you dolt!” was her disgusted reaction.

“Sorry, Lom,” he said, not sounding sorry at all. “But look at what the cat dragged in. Or should I say, _cats_?” He winked slyly and lifted up his hands, each one wrapped around a cat. Both animals were clinging to his shoulders, their tails lashing and their eyes stretched wide in fright. “It’s Mr. Fishbone and Little Lom,” he sang, kicking the door shut behind him with aplomb.

“Nilesy, put them down, for Christ’s sake.” Lomadia reached into the box nearest her, yanking out a rag stained black from when Nilesy had been attempting to make a cat train, and began to wipe herself down with it. The mug of tea was in a sorry state with most of it sloshed out onto her clothes so she glumly abandoned it to a stack of books stacked at waist-height and attacked her ruined clothes with renewed vigor.

Finally she leaned back in the chair, halfway satisfied with her job. It was too late to change now, with all her clothes packed up. Her eyes slid to Nilesy, who had completely ignored her admonitions and was now kneeling on the floor, clucking to the cats as he encouraged them to eat from the food bowl he’d laid out. “Oh, Nilesy, not the good food!”

“What?” he drawled out. “C’mon, Lom, these cats are starving; they've been out wandering the wilderness for the past week.”  

“Fine,” was her short reply. She watched him watch the cats eat for a few more seconds of relative silence, then asked, “You get all the ward stones?”

Nilesy patted his trouser pocket. “Of course. I didn't just go out there to play with cute, adorable little kittens, now did I?” he asked the two cats, his voice rising in pitch before he flashed Lomadia an easy grin. He knew how she felt about his vocal adoration of all things feline.

Ignoring his teasing, she said, “Glad I kept this weystone handy. I don’t know how we’d have managed transporting a million cats across a mountain range on broomsticks.”

“Those are the shittiest things we've ever made, Lom.”

“Yeah, they weren't very good, were they? I was expecting better.”

The two lapsed into another easy silence, Lomadia tipping her head back and closing her eyes. Alone behind her eyes, she focused only on her own breathing. The steady refrain of her heartbeat lulled her, a primordial lullaby built upon the ecstasy of living. Somewhere, outside the space of her head, she heard Nilesy shift, but she didn't react when she felt him rest his weight against the legs of her chair and settle his chin on one of her knees, reaching up with one hand to twine his fingers through hers.

The soft _prrpht_ of a satisfied cat drew a light chuckle out of Nilesy, and she felt his chest shake, the vibrations melting against her skin. “We spoil them,” he said, his chin still stubbornly on her leg.

Lomadia resisted the urge to jiggle it, instead retorting, “No, you spoil them.”

“Maybe I do,” Nilesy mused. He raised his head and she opened her eyes, but whatever she was expecting to see, she was sorely disappointed. He flashed her a sheepish grin before lowering his head and rubbing his face against her leg, so similar to the nuzzling of a cat that she had to laugh, rolling her eyes as she pushed him away with her foot. “Oh, go take a nap. We aren’t leaving until nightfall anyway.”

“But, Lom, packing,” he whined into her knee.

“I’ll do it. You go take a nap.”

Nilesy pushed himself away from her and gave her a half-serious frown, then his brow unfurrowed and he gave her another cat grin. “All right, fine.”

He pushed himself to his feet with an exaggerated grunt of effort then cracked his spine, which earned him a shudder of disgust and a hard shove from Lomadia. He stumbled backward from her, recovered, and headed in the direction of their bedroom, walking with a ground-eating stride that seemed too big for him.

Lomadia didn’t bother watching him go. “Right,” she said to the cats. “Let’s get back to work.”

  
████████  
  


The journey to Owl Island was a simple matter. Nilesy stumbled out of their bedroom sometime after the sun had dipped down and the moon had risen up. Lomadia had fumbled the weystone while tripping over a cat in the garden but had managed to stay on her toes and out of their cactus garden. The portal the weystone had opened was an old one, not new and perfect like the Ars Magicka ones that all the important mages used to get around. It was inflexible and static, which meant that it dropped them off in one of the tallest jungle trees instead of on the sandy beach like it was supposed to.

The brooms turned out to be handy, as the two had to make several trips up and down from the tree, and its vines were too thick to clutch and use as rope. When at last every cat was accounted for, the owls had flown through and Lomadia had once more tearfully said goodbye to her garden and its golem caretakers, she dissolved the portal utilizing an old embers trick she’d learned from one of the coven members and blew out the waythrough as easily as one might blow out a flame. On the other side, the old side, the weystone cracked and the way was no more.

An avian sanctuary and in recent years home to nesting wyverns, Owl Island was just off the coast of Newport, a seafaring outpost of Mistral City that had eventually turned into its own thriving town, still closely linked to its sister city but now able to contribute trade routes, fish, and numerous very important persons from around the world.

Lomadia had been given command over Owl Island by one of the original settlers of Mistral City, and the few times someone swam out to demand to see her certificate of ownership, she had always presented it with a flourish, fresh and unwrinkled, the ink still gleaming as if it had only been signed over to her just yesterday.She had built a small cottage within the trees, nooks and crannies where she hid her items expertly camouflaged in the trunks of half-hollowed out trees. The island was lush with jungle, and the numerous birds that made it their home kept most from attempting to settle on it.

To put it bluntly, it was the perfect place for a hermit, and while Lomadia wasn’t a recluse, she did value her privacy. And, of course, there was the small matter that with over a hundred Lomadia currently living in the country and the one owning Owl Island having not been seen for many years, there was no way the magic police would track Nilesy and her down to the sanctuary.

Even if they did, a terrible surprise in the form of wyvern venom would be awaiting them.

That was the first order of business, of course. Once all their luggage had been stowed away in her treehouse-slash-cottage, Lomadia led Nilesy through the trees, a long line of cats following behind while Mr. Owl and broody Athena flew off to converse with their newfound kin.

“Don’t startle them,” was what she had told him, for once deadly serious and in no mood for his games. He had kept up his teasing and joking until she had snapped at him, harsh like she never did. That had been enough to end his banter and now they walked in silence. She had no emotion to spare on sympathy for him; her heart hammered in her throat as she listened to the shrieks of wyvern mothers, calling to their children.

At last they came to the northern beach, the one she never went near, even in the dark of the moon. The moon above reflected blue in the sea, casting a false lake over the white sand. Lounging in dips and valleys, the grand wyverns slept fitfully. The only ones awake were a pair of watchers, perched on rocks opposite each other on the beach. The one nearest Lomadia rustled its wings and its nostrils flared. It snapped its muzzle and pulled back its reptilian skin to reveal gleaming ivory fangs. One canine was broken off.

Lomadia breathed.

This was Brokentooth, one of the few wyverns she had managed to garner a respectful relationship with. The male was older than when she had last seen him, no longer a long-legged teenager but instead a powerful young adult male. His crest bristled out and his mouth opened wide as she stepped near, but it was a call of greeting that leapt from his throat, not one of challenge. They wyverns on the beach behind him stirred but none leapt up; there had been no threat issued so there was no reason to respond. They slept on.

“Hey there, you,” Lomadia said softly, offering her flat hand for him to nudge and nip at, his heat pits showing vividly against his snout for a moment before he dropped his crest down and bumped his head forward, pushing it against her chest in an affectionate nuzzle.

The false kin of dragons, wyverns were a fierce bunch and highly matriarchal. Brokentooth, as a young bachelor male not yet attached to a female’s harem, was somewhat of an outcast and low in the hierarchy. It had been loneliness that had driven him to associate with Lomadia as a young hatchling and then as a teenager. She had defended him from the rowdy, larger females and a bond had formed. Now, she gestured for Nilesy to come closer, pressing her hands around the wyvern’s muzzle, ensuring he’d only breathe in her scent.

The beast breathed her in eagerly, hungrily, but its bright amber eyes were quick to snap onto Nilesy as the man stepped up behind Lomadia. The wyvern hissed and rustled its wings, but a moment later its gaze softened and it turned its eyes back onto Lomadia as the woman blew softly into its face.

“This is Brokentooth,” she finally said. Nilesy stood next to her now, but still far enough away that he could scramble backward if the wyvern suddenly turned nasty. She expected banter then, some half-teasing reply along the lines of, “I adopt cats, you adopt giant nasty flying things. Oh, I see how it is.” But for once her partner was quiet, his brown eyes fixed squarely on the beast’s head.

At last Brokentooth began to squirm in her hands, and she allowed him to break away. The wyvern gave another trill she’d learned meant “all is well” and turned away from her, pattering back to its post and scrambling onto its boulder in a mostly graceful fashion.

That was enough for the night. Beyond him, sleeping in the sand hollows, she could see a few other friends of hers, including the old white wyvern who had first showed her friendship and had been elevated to a high status within the herd with the advancement of age and bulk. Her massive white hide was tinted a blue-green by the water’s reflection, and Lomadia flashed the sleeping creature a fond smile before she gently grabbed Nilesy’s hand and led him back into the jungle.

Brokentooth would let the others know that once more the keeper of the isle had returned and brought with her a valued guest.

Their journey back to the treehouse was quiet, introspective. Lomadia struggled to keep her mind from wandering as she constantly picked up on the quiet rustles of nighttime creatures. Nilesy’s silence worried her, and the longer they walked, the harder it became for her to breathe—by no means tortuous, but it was there, constant, a slowly-growing burden that clung to her like rainwater to a spider’s web.

When she could take it no more and had worried her lip into a raw, flushed red, she reached out with her hand and caught Nilesy’s. For a moment, she half-stumbled, struggling to match her stride to his own cat-like prowl.

Then she felt something clink into place inside her heart, a settling of something, and Nilesy slowed down. They synchronized, matched; the weight had lifted. His grip was tight and sure, and she felt everything inside her loosen, come undone.

“You keep a lot of secrets, Lom,” he said softly, no judgement tempering it into hardened steel like she had half-feared in her waking nightmares. And she instinctively knew that he was offering her a choice. She could explain or keep her silence, and he would not forsake her, whatever decision she reached.

As if it could be that easy. And wouldn't it be simple to just say nothing, refuse him any sort of information? Let them live in peace and ignorance for the rest of their lives on Owl Island. That was what she had originally planned for her life in the Highlands.

Lomadia snorted and gripped him tighter. “Ever heard of cat’s paw, Nilesy?” she asked him.

“I assume you don’t mean those cute little paws I tickle all the time.”

Lomadia swallowed a laugh and turned it into another snort of derision. “No, I don’t.”

She paused and quickly considered how much to allow. The whole truth or a halfway, slantwise truth? Something similar to fear tickled the back of her brain at the idea of offering him the whole truth; it wasn’t fear of rejection or fear of betrayal. For all her wisdom and knowledge, she couldn’t put her finger on what it was. But she knew to trust her instincts.

“A cat’s paw is a tool,” she said finally. “More specifically, it is a person used by someone else as a tool. I am a cat’s paw for my father.”

And she hated him. Hated him so much for the choice he had given her. It came to her now, liquid memory injecting fire into her blood, rage and anguish and a raw loneliness that threatened to birth madness. Madness or numbness.

Hadn't she left Owl Island specifically because of the alternative? She couldn’t stay here forever, she knew. By the next full moon he’d come to know of her return, so she would have to contact him before then. Before he had reason to doubt her promise.

“That’s tough,” Nilesy said when she didn't elaborate further. He didn't press, instead choosing to swing his arm up and around her shoulders, pulling her in close to him. Where skin touched, softness bloomed, and Lomadia felt the fire quelled swiftly. It raged no more inside of her, but where it had run fatigue now crept, licking her scorched veins.

“Want me to sing you an old Nilesy lullaby tonight?” he asked. “Cuz I think you need it.”

“Yes, please.”

 

 


	5. Part 1, Chapter Four

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh wow, whoops. e-enjoy a double update since i got caught up in stuff? (aka us triple crown, ark: survival evolved, and then lioden cough)

 

On the dawn of the third day of the fifth month of the ninth year since Israphel’s vanquishing, the guards of the southernmost gate of Mistral City first spotted a figure emerging from the trees of Silverwood Way.

Alsmiffy blinked in the sudden flash of direct sunlight. He squinted, confused and looked toward the white spire that pierced the bright blue sky and whose direction he had headed in ever since Trott had been taken from him. A half-sob escaped his mud-caked throat as he remembered.

They had managed to cross beneath the Blackrock Mountains, arriving in the Noblelands that surrounded the shining capital of Minecraftia and stretched out along the coastline. They had first found themselves in a town and had traded a few of their trinkets for supplies and rooms and hospitality after a long and frightful trek. A dispatch had been sent to alert the Magic Police of a deranged man on the loose; Alsmiffy doubted they had received it, and all the gods above help them if they had.

Ridgedog had found them, in the night. He had taken Trottimus from his bed, but only after he had massacred the entire town. When Alsmiffy had sprinted for help, Ridge’s laugh ringing in his ears, he had been swamped with the scent of blood and carnage. They had all been decimated. Even the livestock kept penned for butchering had been destroyed. The dogs, the cats, nothing had been left alive and at some point Alsmiffy had passed out and woken up face-to-face with a corpse. A corpse of unidentifiable gender, because it had been gnawed at by some hellish beast. Some creature he didn’t know, needle points and scored flesh all he could bear to identify before he had stumbled away, gagged, and puked.

All had borne the needle marks, little pinpricks lined up in a biting row, and the deeper grooves made by claws.

The thought of it now nearly made him puke again, and he only refrained thanks to the mud that coated his throat, for he had been forced to scavenge on the road and had taken a liking to the crawfish that created mud mounds wherever rainwater collected and could be easily dug out and incapacitated with a stick.

At some point, he stopped walking. His legs gave way underneath him and he fell face-first onto the springy turf that abounded on the hills surrounding Mistral. In his battered state, it was as soft as goose feathers and he almost fell asleep.

He would have if not for the arms that suddenly seized him, dragged him up. Voices spoke to him and the sudden movement made him dizzy, lights popping in his eyes as questions surrounded him. What town was he from, what had happened to him, what was wrong with him? Alsmiffy opened his mouth but deigned to answer none of them, instead puking up mudbug meat and shell bits onto a guard’s shoes.

“Sorry, mate.” They were the first words he’d uttered since he had screamed his throat bloody with the loss of Trott.

He was, of course, immediately taken into custody. The Magic Police were quick to displace the guards, encircling him and herding him to the same white spire he had seen stretching into the sky. He knew it to be home to the council as well as the main headquarters of the Magic Police alongside some of the other branches of Mistral’s government; he also knew in his current condition he’d never survive any sort of climb.

However, Alsmiffy quickly came to realize that he was no longer amongst the rabble of the Highlands but instead being cared for by the most illustrious mages in the world. There were no simple hedgewitches here, struggling to brew teas and pass them off as potions. No, here there was progress in the advancement of magic, and all who handled him were experts at their craft. Alsmiffy disliked the term “handled” and he almost pulled his lip up to match the scowls that had been passed around when the word _Highlands_ had been loosed upon the air. But again his half-broken state conspired against him and he only managed a low moan of pain.

A kinder man took him into custody then, one who eyed his associates with obvious dislike before turning his attention to Smiffy’s wounds. The spell he worked was one Alsmiffy knew well, and he gritted his teeth as bone was sewn to muscle and muscle spread thick and hardy once more instead of hanging wasted and wan. The entire process took only a few minutes and then he was handed a potion of some pink concoction that smelled faintly of bubblegum. His jaw was right enough again that he could say, “Cheers!” without pain before he downed the entire bottle. He passed the empty container back to the medic.

“Just a bit of an energy boost,” the man said. “They’re scheduling you for an appointment with the council, should be a bit after lunch. For now I’d suggest taking a nap. We’ll supply you with some bed clothes and get you some new proper clothes to wear from one of the seamstresses if you’ll supply us with your measurements.”

Alsmiffy gave the information over readily. Even with the so-called energy boost, he felt dog-tired and it was with great relish that he was taken to a medical bed and left there in the dark, the sun outside covered by heavy curtains that whooshed across the floor when dragged into place. Some small fragment of his mind that had managed to escape the insanity and could still rationalize had worried over whether he’d be able to sleep so soon after seeing so many dead and his two best friends captured. As he settled down and pressed his face into the pillow provided, he quickly found that he had no problems at all.

 

████████

 

Alsmiffy walked onto the elevator with some trepidation. _Just think third floor. Third floor. Third floor._ There was a lurch, and his stomach dropped into his brand-new shoes. He winced from the sudden displacement and stepped forward, happy to be on flat, non-magicked ground. He glanced back at the white stone he had stood on, carved with a glyph he knew had something to do with motion, but the last time he’d seen the symbol it had been more angular and hadn’t had the odd serif hanging off the topmost swoop.

_Language changes, so why the hell can’t magic change?_ For some reason, the thought was disconcerting. He didn’t know why.

The collar of his new dress shirt felt tight, like it was pinching the back of his neck, and he tried to nonchalantly tug it out as he walked down the hallway. Like most of the spire he had seen, the hallway was carved from gleaming white stone, held up by equally white pillars. Quartz, the mages had told him. Quartz from the Nether, amplifier of magic. Ars Magicks, of course. It was too pristine and clean to have anything at all to do with witch magic or blood magic. The end of the hallway opened up into what he could only think of as a playhouse. In the center of the room was a raised stage and surrounding it from all sides were rows upon rows of seats. Directly behind it was a long table and seated there were the seven he had come to see. The councilors.

Alsmiffy forced himself to walk stiffly toward them, pummeling the urge to run. He had been made aware of how he was to conduct himself and he must wait before the platform and allow the room to be filled before he could make his case in front of the seven who dictated the laws of Minecraftia.

He did not wait long. Gossip had spread of his arrival via the loose-lipped guards who had first brought him in, and a crowd packed itself into the room, many of the seats being filled. Alsmiffy watched them flow in, his eyes picking out various members of the crowd. Here was a big-bosomed redhead with a tiny elderly woman on her arm, her fox face protective as she guided the older woman through the crowd. A pair beyond them seated themselves far in the back, and he saw only a flash of the woman’s tawny hair before they were obscured by the moving throng of people. The madness of it all made him long for the Highlands, where the largest crowd he had ever seen was a village of 60, all gathered together to see the Magic Police assigned to their territory, and he had been amongst them, not out in the open as he was now.

He shivered, feeling naked despite his fine clothes.

At last all were seated and the middle-most seated council member stood up, stepped forward, and coughed once. Coughed twice, and one of the mages that Alsmiffy vaguely recognized stood up then sat back down just as abruptly. Alsmiffy tweaked an eyebrow, puzzled.

“You wished to speak to us?” The councilwoman said, and Alsmiffy realized what had occurred by the way her voice boomed throughout the room and echoed in his skull. It was a communication spell, one he had never encountered before. The woman who spoke was fairly tanned, of middling height and of middling age, lean and wiry in a chewy sort of way, not for those who appreciated a soft girl with a soft mind and a soft mouth. She spoke as if her lips were filled with fangs, somehow managing to keep up a dignified appearance even with this hardness pressed into her.

He swallowed and once more tugged self-consciously at his shirt collar, uncertain of how to begin. _Well, no sense in holding back._ The thought flashed in his mind as he took a deep breath and locked his eyes on the councilwoman, finding it easier to pretend she was the only one in the room, the only one he was speaking to.

“My friends have been kidnapped by a madman,” he began. The woman’s eyes narrowed, causing crow’s feet to sprout in the corners of her eyes, but she said nothing. “I was stationed in the Highlands, and he came to us a few days ago. We thought he was a client.” Alsmiffy shuddered.

“He wasn’t, though. He wanted to take my friend Trottimus for blood magic.” That earned a collective gasp from the crowds, and Alsmiffy struggled to remember he was supposed to pretend they didn’t exist. He was vaguely aware of how the mages shifted in their seats, but he did not turn his head to look at them.

He breathed in deep, shutting his eyes. This would be the hard part, where he would have to remember everything. Just make it quick; don’t dwell on it. “Our other friend distracted him while we ran. We were coming out of Blackrock Mountains when he caught up with us. We were in one of the border towns, something like Wren’s Flight? He found us there, and he took Trott and killed everyone in the town. I ran,” he stammered out at last, his mouth dry. “I ran until I got here.”

All eyes were focused on him, the room deathly quiet. At last the councilwoman sighed and asked him tiredly, “What was his name, son?”

“Ridgedog.”

 


	6. Part 1, Chapter Five

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i rewrote the entire first half of this and it was slow going but it settled a little better than the original version. still not wholly happy but if i keep fucking with it i’ll never get another chapter out lol (in the meantime i've built up an excess of five plus chapters so even if i hit a wall i have some room to breathe lol)

  


“So you told him that I’d be the best one for the job?”

Lomadia groaned and raked a hand through her hair, her hat falling askew. The glass in front of her held liquid gold, but after only a few drinks she was already done. Drinking in somber company was never any fun, and with Honeydew on one side and Xephos on the other, she felt trapped: itchy and squeezed tight, even though she was flanked by the legendary heroes themselves.

She scowled when Xephos pressed close to her, blue eyes flashing electric in the dim room.

“Not precisely,” he admitted softly. The spaceman had kept up with his dwarven friend throughout the night and whereas Honeydew was now beginning to pace himself, cheeks ruddy and words slurred, Xephos seemed completely unaffected. In general he seemed to process most earthern foods efficiently, though what exactly he got out of them was unknown.

Lomadia regretted ever taking Nilesy into the city. It had been a chance for a lowborn country bumpkin like himself to take in the grandeur of Mistral City, but she hadn’t planned on being coaxed into tracking a madman. Not that it was yet fully decided she would go.

“So then what is it?”

“Lomadia,” Xephos squeezed her shoulder but did not touch her further. “This _Ridgedog_ character is dangerous. An entire town? I couldn’t possibly send the Hounds after him. They’d all be slaughtered.”

He met her eyes, insistent.

“And I suppose the pair of you won’t do,” she retorted at last. The pub was slowly emptying out, mostly of patrons who had come only to be in the same room as the legendary heroes. The late-nighters were quietly wrapped up in their own affairs, and at her side Honeydew had finally pushed his mug aside and planted his face on the bar, his viking helm tipped forward to hide his eyes from view. He’d likely be asleep in a few moments.

Xephos shrugged half-heartedly. “It’s difficult,” he said. “All the paperwork we’d have to fill out, and you know Honeydew would get us lost at _least_ three times. The only reason we ever tracked down Israphel,” and here he whispered the name, “was because you couldn’t stand to have us missing what was right under our noses.”

“Most people miss the sand labyrinths,” Lomadia said dismissively. “You have to have been around a while to know about them.” She lifted her glass up and took another gulp, mostly to fill the empty space between them. She disliked the distance she had been forced into by her father, but Xephos had taken it easily enough, occasionally forgetting himself with the light touches he bestowed.

Again Xephos squeezed her shoulder then moved his hand down to cup her bicep, and warmth bloomed beneath her skin. She resisted the urge to remind him of the promise she’d been forced to give and instead settled for another gulp. Whiskey still glimmered in the glass but she pushed it away. “Enough for me, thanks,” she told the barkeep.

“Her drinks are on me,” Xephos added smoothly, the hand that had held her falling away with a quiet grace. The barkeep shrugged, too used to the intricacies of human interaction to have more than a passing interest in the hero’s attachment. He rumbled an affirmative and went to check on other patrons.

“You’ll do this for me, then?” Xephos asked, his eyes following the barkeep’s retreating back.

“As if I had a choice!” she shot back, and he chuckled quietly.

“Thank you,” he said, so softly that any normal human would have missed it entirely. Lomadia just lifted up one shoulder in a half-shrug and tried to make her body language project an air of nonchalance as she slipped out through the front door, its bell tinkling merrily in the gloomy night.

She took her time traveling the cobblestone paths of Mistral City. She had left Nilesy safely cooped up in the Bucket o’ Lums, a tavern that was mostly clean and an old favorite of hers. They had rented out one of the rooms above the pub, having planned to return to Owl Island the following day. That would no longer be possible.

Above her the pale moon hung ominously, a sliver of white that reminded her of her father’s eye. She could feel him now, the promise she had made pressing down onto her shoulders. He had never approved of her consorting with those who came from beyond the planet they lived on. It was an ancient distrust, kindled from a hatred toward those who viewed their home with the indifference one would afford an ant.

And her taking one of these aliens as her lover? That had made him fly into a rage. He had been great and terrible and it had only been Xephos’ acceptance of their separation that had led her to give him up. Had he asked her to fight on his behalf, she gladly would have torn her father to shreds.

But he had not and she had not and now— _There_!

She spun sharply on her heel, eyes desperately darting to catch sight of the overwhelming presence that had stalked her all the way from the bar. She stood with her body braced, waiting for whatever it was to show itself. But even as she stood there, tensed up with her hands spread to ward off attack, she knew it had already gone.

Lomadia stood there for a long moment, her senses spread far, but she caught nothing more of the malign creature that had hunted her like prey.

 

████████

 

“Hi, my name’s Alsmiffy.”

The awkward greeting wasn’t exactly what she’d expected from the man. Nor had she expected his height; Nilesy easily dwarfed her but Alsmiffy still managed to be a whole head taller than Nilesy, his bright blue eyes flashing doubtfully as he looked down at her, a giraffe examining a meerkat. Or at least she felt like a meerkat, rumpled and rudely expelled from her hole, forced out into the wild world.

All together, the three made an odd, awkward grouping. They had swapped into woodwork clothes for the journey ahead, and both men hoisted packs filled with supplies on their shoulders. Lomadia’s luggage was a good deal lighter, mostly because neither would be allowed to carry her magical items, so they held most of the campstuff while she had only clothes to contend with. Clothes and rocks and dried herbs, that was her burden. And a special license, issued to her via Xephos pulling a few strings and calling in a few favors. It would grant her the ability to use magic legally for a limited period.

Now, in the hot morning of a new day, the three exchanged greetings. Nilesy was as awkward as Alsmiffy, but his was based more on nerves than distrust. Lomadia offered her own name in a short fashion that left no time for questions and allowed a few minutes more of uneasy mingling before she held out her hand.

“Do you have something of theirs? Either of them? I’ll need it to track this Ridgedog. If not, we can retrace your steps until we find something, but if this is blood magic, time is of the essence.”

Alsmiffy’s flustered look quickly dropped her hope down to zero. “We sold most of our personal belongings in—in that town. If we went there, I’m sure we could find something.”

Lomadia nodded her head. They had a direction then, and she knew Wren’s Flight. “All right then,” she said. “Flying or walking, which do you prefer?”

Even before she had finished speaking, Nilesy was moaning like a wounded cow. “Oh, Lom, please, not the brooms!”

“Flying’s faster,” she continued on as if Nilesy had never said anything, “but walking would be better if you have a,” and here she paused before continuing more delicately, “a sensitive stomach.”

“If you get motion sickness, we should walk,” Nilesy put in bluntly. He pushed his glasses further up the bridge of his nose and readjusted his pants. “I’m going to be pulling splinters out of my ass for _days_.”

Alsmiffy’s eyes met hers for a moment, and she lifted her chin, expectant. He blinked then squared his jaw, coming to a decision. “Right, flying. It’ll be easier to spot from the air.”

Nilesy allowed himself one more bovine groan before he dropped his bag off his shoulders, the sack landing with a heavy clang as the cookingware they’d brought along all jumbled violently against each other. “Brooms, brooms,” he mumbled busily to himself before finally tugging out a pair of items wrapped in tissue paper. He held them out with one outstretched hand even as he tugged his sack closed with the other.

Lomadia took them briskly, unwrapping both and allowing the twigs they contained to fall down into her hand. “Got a flint?” she asked Alsmiffy. She wasn’t surprised when he pulled out the crudely made device; he looked the type to enjoy setting things ablaze, but don’t ask how she knew. She took it and after a few false starts, she finally made a flame appear.

Immediately, before it could snuff out, she lifted the twigs to its fire. At first, neither caught alight, but as she whispered encouragement and allowed her gaze to unsharpen, lose focus, she felt the bite of fire nipping at her fingers and released both pieces of wood. They fell, dropping to the ground and roaring to life, blue flames licking greedily. Both were quickly reduced to ash but by the time the flames had died into the gentle glow of embers, Lomadia had already completed her calling.

“Stand back,” she said calmly, her fingers still tingling from the warmth.

“Why?” Alsmiffy’s voice was tinged in doubt, acrid, but he stepped back as she commanded. Nilesy shuffled away as well, his eyes aimed skyward and squinting in the mid-morning sun. “Oh, there they are,” he remarked.

With a whistle of wind, two brooms dropped down from the air to freeze at knee-level, hovering in a position perfect for straddling.

“Holy shit.” The expletive from the tall man was bubbling with energy, and when Lomadia shot him a quick glance, she saw that his face was alight with a childish wonderment. “You have _got_ to tell me how you did that.”

Now that was surprising. Even those raised within the undeveloped Highlands held no love for primal magic. Ars Magicka had so completely taken over the land of Minecraftia since its official endorsement by the Magic Police that Lomadia had been surprised to find an apprentice in the form of a young man, unskilled at most things but with a fondness for cats. Now here again was one who appreciated her magic, not for the fact it was attached to her but for its own virtue, and she found a small smile had slipped onto her face.

“Why the interest?” she asked.

He blinked back at her for a moment, his eyes narrowing a fraction. Then he relaxed and said easily, “Done a bit of something similar, when I wasn’t working. Hobby-like, you know. Ever heard of Thaumcraft?”

A whistle escaped Lomadia. Interesting, and suddenly she had something she could potentially grab at.

“You a thaumaturgist? Didn’t know we still had those around.” She paused, eyeing him, then hesitantly asked for confirmation of her suspicions. “Was your friend one as well? The one Ridgedog took?”

Alsmiffy’s face paled as she asked, but he shook his head impatiently. “Naw, Trott’s a bit weird, but he was never into magic. He’s the type of guy you’d knock back a few shots with, no funny business.”

Lomadia didn’t comment on his choice of words. She didn’t particularly find primal magic funny, especially primal magic of a type that had been supposedly lost for centuries, trapped forever in a circle of cults who had worshipped abominations and died out with the rise of human ingenuity.

“Damn,” she murmured to herself.

“Right, are we ready to go now?” The question came from Nilesy, who was squinting up at the sun with an unreadable expression. Lomadia raised her eyebrows at him and received his answer when his stomach suddenly rumbled. He raised his eyebrows back at her and earned a few chuckles from Alsmiffy and her. “I am _starving_ ,” he announced. “So let’s say we pick up the pace a little and save the chatting for _after_ we’ve accomplished something.”

“All right, all right,” Lomadia shot back good-naturedly. “Greedy guts—we’d better hurry up before Nilesy eats all the food we packed.”

“It’s not like I have all of it, Lom.” So saying, Nilesy swung his leg over the broom nearest him, cut from hawthorn. The length of it was slender, sanded smooth and polished until it shone. Grips had been notched into its sides and the delicate bush of the broom was not scraggly in its disorder but strangely quaint. Its very appearance marked it as a witch’s broom, and Lomadia smiled as Nilesy perched atop it, his large frame at odds with the small width of the shaft.

And she had _not_ meant for that thought to drip with innuendo, but it was and it did.  

Her own broom was made of ash, and she cut a side glance at Alsmiffy as he watched Nilesy take off. Her fellow witch grinned as the magic tying the broom together began to awaken and pick up speed, until finally he was flitting through the sky as fast as a peregrine. Of course, the turning circles of brooms were more akin to a pelican’s but flying straight and true there was nothing that could catch them.

“Wait,” Alsmiffy said slowly, his eyes dropping down to lock onto her broom. At last he had spotted their predicament. She had hoped he might.

“You’ll be riding with me,” she told him in what she hoped was a confident voice. "Like riding double on a horse, that’s all.”

“Except there’s a lot more space between me and the ground,” Alsmiffy murmured. But he stepped toward her, his hands raised timidly, and she swung her leg over her own broom, hands sliding down and holding tight to the grips.

“C’mon now, man, we don’t have all day.”

Above them, Nilesy was already beginning to fly circles closer and closer to the forest Alsmiffy had stumbled out of. Alsmiffy grunted as he carefully sat down behind her, his movements awkward and making the broom tremble beneath them, adjusting to the new weight of a full-grown man.

“Arms around my waist now, so you don’t fall off,” Lomadia commanded and leaned forward. His hands were timid but once they were fully around her waist she took off, coaxing the broom into a quick ascension and acceleration combo that had the magic whining pathetically at her, not used to such rough handling. “C’mon baby, you can handle it,” Lomadia gently coaxed the wood beneath her, whispering a strengthening spell for luck despite the fact her items were all in her pack.

At last their ride smoothed out and Alsmiffy’s death grip around her waist loosened, his head swiveling as he took in the sky surrounding them and the ground now vastly far below them.

“Which way?” she asked him, having to shout over the whistling wind that danced around them. Even just slight acceleration was enough to whip her words over her shoulder and away into the unknown, and she cursed herself quietly for not preparing a whisperstone. Later, she promised herself, when I’m not pretending to be an eagle.

Alsmiffy’s voice came quietly, and she shook her head, soft words falling like grains of sand around her ears. Not good enough, not even for her hearing. Then he leaned closer, his chest pressed to her back and his thighs radiating warm, their feet brushing occasionally, but at last she could make out what he said.

“There,” he told her, half-shouting, “Follow that river there. There’s this big blazing whitewood tree; once we reach it, head away from the sun!”

She nodded and felt him shift back on the wood, the broomstick wobbling a bit as it compensated for his movement, readjusting its balance. Lomadia twitched her thigh muscles and the broom responded smoothly, following her guiding hand and heading toward a thick, rampaging river that squirmed through the trees like a massive worm.

As she flew past Nilesy, she raised her hand, chopping it down once, twice in a directive to follow her. He gave her a thumb’s up, his teeth flashing white in the blue sky and then he dove into a tailspin that left him trailing behind her, no longer flying at maximum speed.

Alsmiffy for his part, fidgeted awkwardly behind her as they flew, and she knew well the discomfort he faced. His loose clothing wasn’t made for riding rigid broom handles and he was likely chafing along his nether regions, trying to adjust without making his actions known to her or the broom they rode on.

“Sorry,” Lomadia called back to him, her voice dry. “They haven’t exactly invented saddles for brooms yet. Not very popular for transportation, ya see.”

He was quiet for a few moments and she almost thought he hadn’t heard her when he finally replied, “Oh, no worries. I’ve got two nuts; I can afford to lose one.”

That tickled a laugh from her, an obnoxious snort that rose up from her belly and earned a responding chortle from him as well.

_Not so bad_ , she thought. _I might even start to enjoy his company._

 


	7. Part 1, Chapter Six

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i have waited like two months for this. this is where shit actually gets ~exciting~.   
> Also Prof Nilesy? lol

 

They reached what remained of Wren’s Flight just as the sun began to sink. Swaddled in shadows cast by trees Lomadia spoke to as, “Grandmother and Grandfather”, the wrecked town looked even worse than Alsmiffy had remembered. The largest road that led straight to the heart of it was distinctly lacking in bodies, but the scent of blood still permeated the area. Lomadia knelt and scuffed her fingers through the dirt while Nilesy stuck close to Alsmiffy, guarded concern on his face, as if he didn’t relish the thought of catching the taller man should he fall into another faint.

The brick and stone structures looked quaint, quiet and perfect and unnatural. Not bustling with life as it had been when Trott and he first stumbled onto its dirt road, but eerie and silent. He hated the way it surrounded him, this heavy feeling of wrongness.

He almost didn’t notice when Lomadia stood up and rejoined them, her face twisted into a scowl. “Used to be bodies around here. Guessing the coyotes got them first. Bears—I saw lynx tracks earlier. And the birds, of course.”

Alsmiffy shuddered gently when he once more caught sight of them. In the trees that encased the empty town, birds kept watch. All of them scavengers, all of them reeking of ruined flesh and spilt piss and loosened bowels. Lomadia didn’t seem to mind them, though, and that made him uncomfortable. At least Nilesy exchanged a disgusted look with him.

“Way to be a downer, Lom,” Nilesy said softly and not unkindly as Alsmiffy wished him to be. He suddenly hated it all, the way the two exchanged glances, exchanged touches, exchanged the space around them like the way he once had with Trottimus and Ross. He felt broken.

As if sensing his thoughts, Lomadia turned from Nilesy stiffly and stepped toward him instead, sweeping her arm out to indicate the town. “Best if we camp outside for tonight. I’ll set up the campfire; you can take Nilesy and look around for what we need.”

Nilesy just gave her an easy smile as she turned away to walk back to where they had set down their packs and brooms.

Then he turned to Alsmiffy with a determined expression. “C’mon, we’ve got work to do. Don’t want Lom getting on my ass ‘cuz I let you be a useless lump.”

“Excuse me?”

“You heard me; they died. Very sad—let’s move on.” Nilesy softened his blunt words by adding, “You want to save your friends, don’tcha? We need to hurry so they don’t end up like all these people did.”

Nilesy stepped away from him confidently, and Alsmiffy followed, spurned into action by the fire that kindled in his veins, warming him. He didn’t want to tell Nilesy he thought his friends were dead. He didn’t want to really admit it to himself; but at some point between meeting with the council and arriving at the ruined town, he had decided what he truly wanted was revenge. He’d have it soon, with the best tracker in all of Minecraftia chasing after Ridgedog. As soon as they tracked him down, she’d summon the Magic Police and Ridgedog would suffer. Once he was bound and harmless, Alsmiffy would make him pay.

For the first time since he had stumbled out of the woods and gazed upon Mistral City, his tentacles twitched. What the mages had given him had diluted his grasp on the etherium even as it nourished him and healed him; it had been a man-made poison, but slowly it was leaving his system, being broken down by his body. In the ether, his tentacles twitched again and one languidly brushed through the dirt, its reptilian hide stirring dust.

In the real world, a small dust cloud formed where it had passed through and Alsmiffy smiled. His mind was no longer clouded; everything was sparkling clear.

“Hey, pal, you all right there?” Nilesy’s slow-going voice was laced with concern, and Alsmiffy jerked his gaze away from the tentacles that sprawled around him in the slantwise world. He blinked and everything regained its filmy texture of reality, no longer sharp the way true essence always was.

He blinked at Nilesy, dazed and disappointed, and struggled to reply in a manner that wasn’t suspicious. “Yeah, just—remembering, ya know?”

“Ya remember where ya might have left your shit?”

“Yeah.” He had seen it, when he had slipped into slantwise: his personal items glowing sickly purple, toxic, amongst a myriad of muted colors. More disconcertingly, he had also spotted his purple calling card on many of the corpses, but it was hard to remember how many he had tripped over in his haste to escape, how many he had greeted and touched and gotten to know just hours before their untimely demise. It was surprisingly easy to push the guilt of it all down.

He led Nilesy confidently through the ruined streets. The deeper in they headed, the more apparent destruction became. Some doors swung from a single hinge, others lay busted and broken and cast aside; all houses held bodies and some streets did as well. Alsmiffy did his best to ignore it all, but he occasionally had to stop as Nilesy’s true condition became more apparent. Whereas before the man had seemed unconcerned at the death that surrounded him, his skin tone quickly took on a greener color, and he occasionally would just stop and stare down at the ground, his hands balled into fists at his side.

When he looked for someone who was not there for a third time, Smiffy spoke up. “Looking for Lomadia?”

Nilesy’s head snapped around to face him, and his mouth flattened into an unamused line. Then he shook his head and forced out a laugh. “Nah, she shouldn’t have to see this.”

Alsmiffy ignored his lie. “She important to you?”

“Your boys important to you?”

Alsmiffy lifted his lips in a toothy grin. “Always have been. That’s why I’m gonna get ‘em back.” White static in his head. “Your girl important the way my boys are?”

“Lomadia’s not a girl,” Nilesy scoffed. “And she’s definitely not mine. You think I want her? Sheesh, the nerve of some people. We talk a little friendly, and everyone thinks we’re fucking.”

“That’s what’s important, mate,” Alsmiffy informed him.

Nilesy tossed him an indecipherable look and grunted. “Honestly, get a load of this guy,” he muttered to no one.

“You think I’m gay?” If Alsmiffy were honest, he hadn’t much been one for labels. There had never needed to be labels because it had always been Trottimus and Ross. Ross and Trottimus. It was him and those two and that was the end and beginning of it. But he wasn’t angry, just confused because he wasn’t quite sure what to label himself.

“I dunno, are you?” He was starting to get sick of Nilesy’s easy-going nonchalance. Passivity and lounging seemed to be all this guy specialized in. Even his words came out sounding lazy.

“Never thought about it.”

“Good,” Nilesy’s bland response caught him off-guard for a second time. The dark-haired man was examining a shopfront, rifling through the items on display. “People like labels too much; anyone asks, you just tell them to fuck off, eh?”

“Thanks,” Alsmiffy said cautiously, uncertain of how to handle the other man.

Nilesy flapped a disdainful hand at him. “Go get your shitty focus already, will ya?”

Alsmiffy nodded back, then turned and strode away. He could hear Nilesy retching behind him, and the scent of sick tickled his nose, refreshing in a nauseating way after smelling nothing but rot and shit. The focus, as Nilesy had put it, turned out to be one of the studs Trott wore in his ear. Alsmiffy also took back the gold-plated thaumaturge goggles he’d traded the shopkeeper; the man couldn’t sell them because he was dead and disemboweled behind the front counter.

“Sorry mate,” Alsmiffy said as he stepped over the corpse.

When he stepped out of the silent building, he found Nilesy waiting for him. The bespeckled man was pointedly holding his nose and gave the goggles in Smiffy’s hand a curious glance before he turned around and started heading back the way they’d come, cutting through a few back alleys as they rounded their way back to where they’d parted with Lomadia.They fell into step beside each other, and Alsmiffy enjoyed a few moments of silence before Nilesy took his hand away from his nose.

“Better hide those,” the man said, sniffing a few times. Then he sneezed and rubbed at his nose with the length of index finger. “The goggles. Lom will be all over those; never seen anything like ‘em, but even I can tell they’re magical.”

Alsmiffy grinned. “She can look if she wants. They’re probably the easiest thing to make in Thaumaturgy.”

“What is?” Lomadia’s voice floated down from the top of a short hill that overlooked the town. Alsmiffy saw where she had chosen camp and approved. With a small grove of short trees and bushes, they would have the advantage of camouflage while still having a much larger field of view. And if it rained, the water would drain down the sides of the hill—a good choice.

“Good spot,” he congratulated her as he hiked up the grassy knoll. She had taken the liberty of arranging their camping gear while Nilesy and he had been away, and a smokeless fire burned at the bottom of a shallow dip in the ground. He was pleased to see a few pieces of meat (rabbit, most likely) being cooked over it.

“Lom,” Nilesy said joyfully, his eyes zeroing in on the pieces of meat. “Loooom,” he dragged out, revenant. “You wonderful, beautiful, amazing woman, you!”

“Yes, yes, I know, I’m awesome,” she shot back even as he hurried forward to sweep her up in a crushing bear hug, and Alsmiffy found himself tapping at the lenses of his goggles.

He kept up his tapping, eyes pointedly fixed on the fire until he heard Lomadia grumble, “All right, off,” and heard her ask, “So what’s easy to make in Thaumaturgy?”

“Ah, this,” he answered, finally turning to look at her. He held up the goggles, showing off the runes inscribed into the golden plating and carefully stitched into the leather straps. “Bit of gold, bit of leather, bit of essence and presto.” He shrugged, as if it were no big deal and was pleased when she took the goggles from his hands, inspecting them before finally placing them over her eyes.

“Wow,” she whispered, and Alsmiffy grinned.

He took them back from her and asked, “Awesome, right?”

She nodded and looked back at him, some of the sharpness returning to her eyes. “Essence, right? Not the Ars Magicka kind?”

He nodded, pleased to have someone who appreciated the work he did. Trottimus and Ross had always been indulgent toward him, but they had never looked at him with the hunger he faced now. He blinked and redirected his gaze toward the goggles, aware of a tightness that gripped his shoulders.

“They probably took the term from Thaumcraft after it went underground.” He scratched his beard, considering; he’d definitely have to shave later. Trim a bit here and there so he didn’t look like a wildman. “But Ars Magicka really uses prana. It draws from the life force of a user. Thaumcraft essence is just what everything’s made of. It’s pretty alchemical, really.”

“Can you turn lead into gold?” Nilesy’s monotonous voice splashed cold water over Alsmiffy and he abruptly wrenched his gaze away from Lomadia, zeroing in on the dark-haired man who had at some point unraveled a bedroll and was now sat on it. A kabob of campfire-cooked meat sat in one hand, already half-eaten.

“Well, no,” Alsmiffy answered. “The whole point of thaumaturgy is based around modification. I guess you could call it a kind of spiritual infusion? I could give lead some of the properties of gold, but I couldn’t—.”

Nilesy clucked and raised one eyebrow at him. “What good is it then, if it can’t turn lead to gold? Can’t get rich with _soft lead_ , now can we!?” He thrust his kabob at Alsmiffy as if underlining his point, then took a large gulp of the meat, making an exaggerated moan and sinking down onto the bedroll. “Mmph, Lom, marry me. Your cooking is _so good_.”

“Ain’t happening,” Lomadia shot back immediately, but she smiled and moved toward the campfire. “Fancy some rabbit haunch?” she asked Alsmiffy.

“Sure,” he answered. “Got the focus,” he added as he sat down on a bedroll of his own, remembering the word Nilesy had used for it earlier.

“Good, that’s good,” Lomadia answered absentmindedly. She had settled down beside Nilesy, the pair of them close enough to touch. And even as Alsmiffy watched, they did touch, Nilesy reaching over to grab her kabob and yank it close enough to his face he could take a bite out of it, Lomadia protesting with a whining, “N-Nilesy,” that was quickly revealed to be fake when her mouth curled into a dazzling smile.

Alsmiffy took small nibbles from his meat and remembered what it had felt like to have two bodies pressed against him.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> alsmiffy is so lonely, oh god. nilesy is also ace as fuck and i regret nothing.


End file.
